Nightmare:
Warden Commander Cousland… most who have as much blood on their hands as you do are called tyrants; some believe you a hero, but you know the truth. Those who have died at your hand, or because of your self-serving decisions are legion. The dark slippery taint that slinks in your blood is a bright star compared the darkness of your soul.
You fight them, don’t you… you need them to be wrong but know they are true… the nightmares of that night, how you could have made a difference, and yet failed! You failed your brother by letting his family be slain as you fulfilled your base desires. Your parents were alive, and while everyone who should have mattered in your life was being cut to ribbons… you ran! The guilt erodes you, you are hollow and fear that truth will be exposed. The ringing echoes of the words “What if?’ haunt your dreams.
You fight them don’t you… the nightmares of your battle against the blight, you murdered, betrayed, schemed and enslaved. The path of destruction that lies behind you is felt by all you were supposed to save. How many did you kill at the tower? How many will die at Bhelen’s treachery? You could have ended the werewolf curse... but that wouldn't had made your task any easier. How many souls will be imprisoned because you sought to make your burden easier by saving the anvil of the void? When offered a clear choice… you always choose the path of least resistance to make your burden easier. And now, at the end of the path, you nightmares are haunted by your decisions, knowing you could have been great… but were not.
How is such a (chuckles) hero riddled and crippled by fear…? You leapt at the chance to free yourself of the burden of sacrifice, despite knowing the ritual’s origin lied with the vile Flemeth. With as little possible knowledge of its potentially sinister consequence, and indifference to its source, your innate reaction was better others suffer than I. Is this the action of a hero? Fear permeates your nightmares, but selfishly… you do not have a fear of what you might have unleashed on the world… your nightmare is that you will be blamed for it.
You fear them, don’t you… the nightmares of being unloved and uncared for; that you mattered to no one. The swamp witch, your nightmares are riddled with her presence. She was the only woman in this world you have ever loved, but was it reciprocated? You know the unsatisfying answer… she feigned love and tolerated your vile presence only because she had to. And what is the recurring result of that nightmare… she flees… can’t flee fast enough as soon as she had used you up and gotten what she wanted. You fear you are empty, unneeded, undesired, and unwanted.
And in conclusion, your greatest, and most self-serving nightmare is of your death… or more… you won’t be able to avoid it. The nightmares of the slightest touch of death’s icy fingers on your neck torment you. You swore an oath to Sacrifice, but you choose the sacrifice of others rather than yourself at every opportunity. You let a vile blood mage continue research on how to extend your life, damn the consequences. You greedily grasp every chance to save yourself at the risk of others. You are consumed by the pointless cause of extending your life, and even if you suceeded... it wouldn’t matter… because your greatest nightmare... even you realize, is that you’re all ready dead. You are unloved and unwanted, alone in your life, damned by your actions and haunted by your decisions... only the title remains... Hero of Ferelden... and even that would be evicerated if they knew what you really were.
Yours are some of the most savory nightmares I have feasted on, I thank thee.
Warden: I’m sorry, were you saying something? The battle helmet kind of makes it hard to hear… sounded kind of important…
Nightmare: Oh **** off!
Warden: (yelling) Merry Christmas Mr. Potter!!





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